Fortitude
by Rochelle Templer
Summary: Mike returns after the events of "I Was a 99 Pound Weakling" and finds out that not everything is quite back to normal.


Fortitude

As Mike walked up to the beach front house he shared with his friends and band-mates, a smile appeared on his face. He had just spent a week visiting his mother back in Texas, and while he enjoyed seeing her, he also had looked forward to getting back to the guys and the life he had made for himself in California.

Suitcase in hand, Mike strolled up to the door and pulled out his keys. It was still early in the morning, and he wasn't sure if anyone would be awake yet. Deciding to err on the side of caution, Mike carefully unlocked the door and crept in as quietly as he could. However, as it turned out, he need not have been so careful as Davy and Peter were already at the table eating bowls of cereal.

"Hi Mike, welcome back," Peter beamed at him. Mike smiled back and set his suitcase down on the floor.

"Hey Peter, Davy," he said. "Y'all wouldn't happen to have some coffee going, would you?"

"I'll get you some," Peter said, jumping up from his chair. Mike nodded and sat down in the chair next to Davy.

"How was Texas?" Davy asked him in-between bites of cereal.

"Good," Mike said. "Got to see a couple people I hadn't seen in a while. Ma was happy to see me, of course. And I got to spend some time taking in some sights I remember from when I was a kid."

Peter placed a mug of coffee next to Mike's elbow before returning to his seat. Mike sipped at the coffee tentatively. He preferred to make it himself, but was pleasantly surprised to find it highly drinkable. Considering Peter's penchant for putting in strange "flavor enhancers" into the coffee and Davy's tendency to make it too weak for his liking, Mike might have suspected that Micky had been the one to make it.

If not for the fact that Micky was nowhere in sight.

"Hey, uh, is Micky still in bed?" he asked as he cupped his hand around the mug. "'Cause I was thinking about taking my stuff upstairs and didn't want to wake him up if he's…."

Mike let his words trail off when he saw the furtive glances Peter and Davy were giving each other. It was clear to Mike that there were trying to consider what kind of answer to give which immediately made him concerned that they would feel the need to do that over what should have been a completely innocuous question.

"Micky's already been up for a while now," Davy finally answered while staring at his empty cereal bowl.

Mike raised an eyebrow. Usually, it was nearly impossible to get Micky Dolenz out of bed before a double-digit hour of the morning. The idea that Micky had probably gotten up close to dawn was unexpected to say the least.

Only something about the way that Peter and Davy continued to flick their eyes toward each other while avoiding his gaze told Mike that this was more than just an isolated oddity.

"All right, are y'all going to tell me what's goin' on?" he asked. "Or are we goin' have to keep dancing around this?"

There was another exchange of looks before apparently a consensus had been reached and Davy had been chosen to be the one to explain things. The English boy leaned back in his chair and sighed.

"You remember Brenda?" he asked. "That bird Micky started dating a couple weeks ago?"

"Brenda…" Mike said, furrowing his eyebrows together. Eventually the vision of a curvaceous blond with eyes that tended to be a rather vacant came to him. "Oh yeah, her."

"You know he was pretty hung up on her, right?" Davy asked, even though it was clear in his tone that he already knew the answer to that question.

"Sure, I know," Mike said. "Me, I can't see it, but I get why Micky likes her. She is good to look at and seems real easy-going."

"Even if she is more than a lil' thick," Davy mumbled.

"Yeah, thick," Mike echoed.

"Don't do that," Davy retorted.

"Ok, so what happened then?" Mike said, moving on. "They break up or something?"

Both Davy and Peter squirmed in their seats for a couple moments before Davy finally continued.

"Eventually they did, yeah," he said. "She dumped him."

"And after everything Micky did for her too," Peter blurted out.

"Did for her? What exactly did he do?" Mike asked.

Davy sighed again and started from the beginning. He told Mike about the bodybuilder on the beach, about Shah-ku and the crazy attempts Micky had gone through to make himself stronger…or appear stronger anyway…to impress Brenda. As Davy talked about how Shah-ku tried to manipulate Micky's desperation, Mike's jaw clenched and his long fingers had curled into fists. It wasn't long before the Texan was wishing that he had not left when he did.

"Honestly, we thought 'e'd be over it once he realized what fraud Shah-ku is and after Brenda left," Davy said as he reached the end of his narrative. "But..."

"Then he started on this other thing," Peter picked up for him. "This new bunch of training. And it's even worse than what Shah-ku had him doing. But he keeps saying that he can't give up now, not after all the work he had put into this."

"He gets up every day before we do and takes off for the beach," Davy continued. "He spends hours there doing who knows what and doesn't come back 'til he's about to collapse. Then he hangs around here, and hardly eats anything before 'e drags himself up to bed."

"We've tried talking to him," Peter said sorrowfully. "But he won't listen. He just keeps laughing it off and making jokes. He won't talk to us."

"I thought maybe if I hooked him up with another bird, he'd get off this," Davy said, shaking his head. "But he doesn't even seem interested. You know, I thought it was just him still being hung up on her, but now…."

Davy shrugged his shoulders while Peter sniffled. The hard look on Mike's face softened in response, and he reached over to pat Peter's arm.

"Don't cry, Shotgun," he said. "It's ok."

"But we couldn't help him," Peter said, rubbing his eyes. "We tried, Mike. We really did, but…."

"I know you did," Mike said gently. "You and Tiny…y'all are the best friends any guy could ask for."

Davy looked down at the table. Mike could see a look of doubt in his friend's eyes. As much as Mike wanted to do something to dispel it, he knew that he had another priority he needed to tend to first. He stood up and took a deep breath.

"Where's Micky now?"

* * *

At that particular moment, Micky was standing in front of one of the rocks that jutted out of the sand near the edge of beach. His arms were outstretched, his hands gripping the stone face in an attempt to steady himself. His legs continued to quake, making the task of staying upright difficult, but he was determined to remain on his feet.

He had gotten his current routine of exercises to help him build muscle and stamina off to a good start this morning, but his energy had swiftly waned. He had planned on staying out a little longer this time, but it seemed to get harder and harder to complete his full workout with each passing day. He tried to chalk it up to not getting enough of the right kind of food to eat, and did his best to ignore the voice inside him that protested that it was more than that.

Micky smirked and closed his eyes. Sometimes it was hard to ignore that voice, but then again, he could be good at it when he wanted to be.

The drummer took several deep breaths before finally straightening up and staring at the rock face. He had heard yesterday that climbing was a great workout and had decided to give it a try today. He figured that he would start with this shorter set of rocks and would work his way up to scaling the area near the pad.

Micky huffed and rubbed his temples. He had woken up with a headache today and it had persisted throughout his entire routine. He had tried taking an aspirin before going out, but it had only taken the edge off it. Still, Micky did his best to work through the pain, figuring that he could take some more once he got back.

He reached out for the rocks, searching for firm handholds before hoisting himself onto the side. It was slow-going, but soon he was inching up the rock while making sure to keep his eyes focused on the top.

"Micky."

Startled, Micky's hand slipped off the crack he was using as an anchor. His feet followed suit, and he yelped loudly as he started to fall. He was only three or four feet off the ground, but he knew that it was going to hurt when he hit the sand. His body immediately braced itself for the impact.

What he had not expected was to run into something on the way down.

Something that felt a lot like a pair of arms met him at what was about half way. Micky quickly figured out that someone had tried to catch him. Unfortunately, all that accomplished was the both of them getting knocked down to the ground with Micky landing on top of some unlucky good Samaritan. Still, Micky was pretty sure it would have hurt far worse if someone had not attempted to stop him from falling. Thus, he was grateful and intended to thank whoever it was.

"Are you all right?"

Micky tensed up and closed his eyes. He no longer needed to turn his head to see who it was. He would know that voice anywhere. Instead, he jumped up and spun around to face Mike, who was currently propped up by his elbows on the ground.

"Don't _do_ that!" Micky snapped at him. "If you hadn't scared me I wouldn't have slipped."

"Sorry," Mike said sheepishly. "Didn't mean to startle you." Micky let out a huff and shook his head before giving Mike a rueful smile.

"Forget it, babe," he said. "And hey, thanks for trying to catch me, even though it didn't really work out. When did you get back anyway?"

"Just a little bit ago," Mike said as he got up. He brushed the sand off his shirt and pants before repositioning his hat on his head. "Davy and Pete told me you were out here."

Micky frowned. He imagined that those two had told Mike about a lot more than where he was. The thought of his friends having discussions about him while he wasn't around bothered him.

Then he noticed how the Texan was studying him. Micky imagined that he probably looked about as bad as he felt at that particular moment and knew that Mike would worry. However, that did not mean he was willing to reward Mike's usual perceptiveness by talking about it.

"Yeah well, I'll be finishing up in a couple hours," Micky said, patting his chest. "Gotta keep in shape, ya know."

"So I've heard," Mike drawled. "But uh, maybe, maybe you should lay off a little. You don't need to push so hard, you know."

"No, you see that's the problem," Micky said. "I've been laying off all this time and now look at me." The drummer stretched his arms out on either side of him. "I'm this skinny little nothing. I've been putting this off for too long. I've got to get in shape, man."

"Mick, it's not like you're a total weakling," Mike countered. "You've got more energy than the rest of us put together. You can usually outrun any of us on our best days, and I've seen you pick Davy up and run around with him like it was nothin'."

"But look at my arms," Micky insisted. "They're pipe cleaners, Mike. I've got no biceps. Chicks dig biceps. And my chest." The drummer slapped his hands against it. "I look like a scrawny kid. How am I going to compete with all those other guys for the girls if I stay like this?"

Micky would have said more, but a wave of dizziness had overtaken him. He swayed back and forth for a few seconds until Mike grabbed his shoulders and guided him to sit down on a wide, flat rock nearby. While Micky shook his head a few times to clear away the spell, Mike sat down next to him.

"Micky, I really think you should quit for today," Mike drawled. "You look exhausted and you probably could stand to get some food in you."

"I'm fine. I'm good," Micky said, with a dismissive wave of his hands.

"Aw man, if this is about Brenda…." Mike began.

"It's not just about her," Micky shot back. "All right? It's _not_ just her."

"Ok, so it's not just about her," Mike replied. "But I still say good riddance as far as she goes. Honestly, Micky, you can do a lot better. What I don't get is why you keep settling for girls like her in the first place."

"Maybe some of us aren't like you and don't want to spend our nights sitting at home alone, strumming away on a guitar," Micky snarled. "When's the last time you've taken a girl out anyway? 'Cause I know I certainly can't remember and I doubt the guys can remember either."

A brief flicker of hurt danced in Mike's eyes, but the Texan did not respond. However, Micky had seen that hurt and instantly regretted his words.

Truthfully, he didn't completely understand why Mike dated so infrequently. He knew it wasn't due to lack of interest from the girls. More than once, they'd be at a gig, and Micky would overhear some of them talk about wanting to meet up with "that tall guy with the hat and the dreamy accent". Despite this, Mike rarely accepted any of the offers given to him. Even when he did hook up with someone, it would usually only last a little while before coming to an abrupt end. It was sort of like Davy's approach to dating, but with even shorter relationships and much longer dry spells between girls. Mike never talked about it, and the rest of them rarely brought the subject up with him.

Micky sighed inwardly. He didn't want to hurt Mike again, but he also needed to make the Texan understand his point of view.

"Look, Micky, you've got your types and I get that," Mike said, having broken the silence first. "I'm just sayin' that you don't have to do all this to get a girl to look at you. You've already got all kinds of girls hangin' around you. Man, only Davy has got you beat in that department, and that's sayin' something."

"Oh sure, they hang around," Micky scoffed. "But that doesn't always mean anything. 'Good ol' Micky. The life of the party….' They just want me to make them laugh."

"And what's wrong with making people laugh?" Mike asked. "Chicks dig that."

"Don't you get it? It's not enough," Micky said, frustrated. "Girls don't wanna date a clown."

"Is that all you think you've got to offer 'em?" Mike asked him. "Man, Micky, you're a lot more than that. Yes, you're funny, but you listen. You really listen when people talk to you. And, and you're nice. You accept people for who they are and don't judge them. And you make them laugh 'cause it's your way to make them happy."

"Yeah right," Micky snorted. "And just where are you getting this from anyway, huh? Are you spying on my dates or something?"

Mike ducked his head and turned away. For a moment, Micky thought he was going to get up and walk away, but the Texan stayed where he was, his shoulders eventually slumping down.

"I suppose I am just guessin'," Mike said quietly. "But, I, I uh…I figure that's probably how you are with them 'cause…well, 'cause, that's how you were not so long ago when you met a guy who didn't know anyone…and who no one else wanted to know anyhow."

Micky swallowed hard. It didn't take long for him to figure out that Mike was talking about himself. The drummer thought back to that time when the four of them first met each other. Davy had initially taken the Texan's reticence as aloofness and Peter had been somewhat intimidated by him. Micky had been the first one to try to get to know him. Granted, part of that was out of gratitude toward Mike for saving him from what would have been a serious injury. However, Micky had also had a gut feeling that there was more to this tall, lanky loner than what could be seen on the surface and that he was someone who was worth the effort to get to know. It wasn't long before he was not only proven right but also before Davy and Peter could see it too.

Since then, Mike had gradually become more outgoing to the people they encountered and would reach out to others more. These days, Mike was usually the first one to offer any assistance he could to both strangers and acquaintances. Micky hadn't been all that surprised by the generous spirit his friend possessed and had long since reasoned that Mike had just needed someone to be willing to take a chance on him and draw him out. Once he had that, there wasn't a limit to how much Mike would give of himself to anyone who truly needed him.

However, that did not mean that Mike had completely discarded his quiet, reserved ways. The Texan continued to socialize on a limited basis, preferring to stick mainly with his fellow band-mates who he knew best and felt he could trust. He tended to keep to himself at parties and avoided becoming the center of attention whenever possible.

In fact, the more he thought about it, the more Micky could see how Mike's tendency to be cautious of others could affect his dating habits. He hated to think that Mike was spending so much time alone because he was too apprehensive to allow most people to get close to him, but it certainly fit with his personality. Thankfully, for the most part, Mike seemed happy with his life and grateful for the friends he had. In return, the rest of them knew that they could always count on Mike to take care of them.

Much like right now with the way that Mike was worrying over him and trying his best to point out Micky's finer qualities in spite of the way the drummer had treated him ever since he had showed up. For the last few days, Micky had thought that nothing could feel as bad as when Brenda had walked away from him for good. Now he was certain that he felt about hundred times worse.

Mike continued to stare out at the ocean silently, apparently at a loss to know what else he should say. It was then that Micky realized that Mike wasn't the one who needed to find the right words. He scooted over closer to Mike and placed a hand onto one of his shoulders, prompting the Texan to look over at him again.

"Hey, it wasn't as big of a deal as you're making it out to be," he said. "I'm sure there were plenty of people who would have liked to get to know that guy you're talking about. He just didn't always make it easy for them is all. But if any of them had bothered to put some effort into it, they would have found out the same thing I did: that he is a really cool guy to know. I'm just glad he was willing to put up with a hyper weirdo like me."

A smile appeared at the corners of Mike's lips while his cheeks grew redder.

"Well, I, I, um, I wouldn't say that you're weird as much as…" Mike began.

Micky immediately smirked at him, an incredulous glint in his eyes. This was met with a chuckle from Mike as the smile started to spread across the Texan's mouth.

"Ok, maybe I would say that you're weird, but not in a bad way," Mike continued. "You definitely have your own way of approaching the world and I think a lot of people could stand to see things through your perspective a little more often."

"Hey, that _would_ be groovy, wouldn't it?" Micky grinned. "I can see it now: the Meaning of Life as interpreted by Micky Dolenz."

Mike blinked hard when suddenly Micky was dressed in a colorful flowing robe with a long goatee appearing on his chin. There were lit candles circling him with sitar music in the background.

"People would go on long, hard pilgrimages to gain my insights into the truth of all things," Micky droned, a faraway look in his eyes.

"Long, hard pilgrimages…." Mike responded. "To Malibu?"

"But only after they had cleared the mists from their minds would my thoughts become clear to them," Micky continued, ignoring him. "This will only be achieved after hours, no days, of meditation and austere living. Then, they will listen and finally hear what the message I have for them."

A loud growl erupted with both Mike and Micky looking all around them to find the source. Another rumble rang out before they realized that the sounds were coming from Micky's stomach.

"That you're hungry and need to eat?" Mike quipped.

There was a poof of smoke and all the guru trappings disappeared, leaving a rueful Micky to clutch at his abdomen.

"I thought was doing the right thing," the drummer said, his tone somber. "Toughening myself up. Clean living and all that."

"Clean living don't mean starving yourself, Mick," Mike said gently. "Toughening up don't mean pushing until you drop."

"Yeah, I should have figured that out by now, right?" Micky said. "Or maybe I did know, but I…. I just…I wanted it to be different this time, you know. I wanted to get into something and not give up on it. I just, I wanted to be stronger."

Mike drew his long legs closer to him and rested his arms on his knees as he turned his gaze back toward the water.

"There's more than one kind of strength, Micky," he drawled. "There's the kind you're talking about. The physical kind. But there's other kinds too. What I mean is, there's power, like having muscles and picking up big weights and stuff. Then there's fortitude. That's the strength inside. The kind that makes you able to have all that positive energy even when things are goin' bad. The kind that makes you put yourself out there again and again just to bring a smile to someone's face. The kind that makes it so you'll stand by someone, no matter what. Fortitude Mick. That's what you've got. And that ain't something to take for granted."

"Yeah, fortitude," the drummer said with a grin.

"Don't do that," Mike smirked.

Micky managed to give him an indignant glare before they both of them burst into laughter. This lasted for several moments until Micky fell back against Mike, his head swimming. He closed his eyes and groaned.

"Micky?" Mike said, concern lacing his tone.

"I, I'm ok," Micky insisted. "Just tell me when the beach stops spinning, will ya?"

"Mick, it's time to go back to the pad," Mike said firmly. "No more arguing."

"No arguments here," Micky said, shaking his head. "But you'll let me know if I take a wrong turn, right?"

Micky couldn't see Mike's face, but he could swear that he could sense the Texan's expression becoming grimmer. He slowly made his way to his feet and started to walk back toward the beach house. He had only managed a few unsteady steps before he stumbled. However, before he could fall onto his face, Mike had slipped his arm around his waist and had guided Micky to sling one of his arms across his shoulders.

"Come on, babe," Mike encouraged him. "We'll do this together. You and me."

Micky nodded and leaned against the Texan, grateful for the support. The two of them ambled awkwardly along the beach.

"My Gran gave me some money right before I left Texas," Mike continued. "I told her she didn't have to do that, but you know how that is. I figure we could use it to refill our cupboards at any rate. So I thought we'd get you some breakfast and let you take a nap and then we can go to the store and…."

"Um, maybe you should just let me sleep and take Davy with you," Micky interrupted. "I don't think he or Peter trust me to pick out the food right now."

"Well all right, I suppose I could do that," Mike said. "I needed to talk to Davy anyway about…wait, wait a minute, what do you mean they don't trust you to pick out the food? What exactly did you do while I was gone?"

"Nothing major, I swear," Micky said. "They're just not very adventurous when it comes to cuisine. Personally, I thought I did an excellent job with the goat milk curd dish I made. The lemon-seed oil really brought out…."

"On second thought, stop right there," Mike interrupted. "I don't want to know. There's a reason why we don't let you be in charge of breakfast."

"Hey, just because I like a little orange juice with my cornflakes, you guys act like I'm a freak or something," Micky replied.

"It's not the orange juice with the cornflakes," Mike said. "It's the orange juice _on_ the cornflakes. In the same bowl. That's just weird."

"You only say that because you haven't tried it," Micky said. "Trust me, you'll never go back to milk once you give it a shot."

"Whatever you say, Mick," Mike laughed. "All right, you rest and Davy and I will get the food. Then I'll treat y'all to my Ma's recipe for fried chicken and maybe it'll make Davy and Peter forget about your cooking."

"Oh all right," Micky said with a roll of the eyes and a dramatic sigh. "That's what I get for trying to add a little color to the dinner table."

"Color's fine," Mike dead-panned. "As long as the food's still, you know, edible."

Micky made a show of sticking his tongue out at Mike before turning his concentration back to his walking. He still felt like he'd been run over by a tank, but now he was comforted by the epiphany that he had finally found the very thing he had been striving toward the last few days.

All he had needed was someone to give him a reason to find it in himself.


End file.
